Changing Times
by RosaleenDhu
Summary: Things were done a bit differently in the past.


**Warnings:** Death, grumpiness, mild angst  
**Pairing:** n/a  
**Blame:** This one's all on me. The bunny attacked when I was supposed to be NaNoing. I finally got to edit it. It's grammar beta'ed only.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't know YnM; I only play in the playground.  
**Summary:** Things were done a bit differently in the past.

**Changing Times**

Hiyama Katsuhiko ghosted through the halls of the hospital, leaving his partner to wait outside for the moment. He remained invisible, the only sign of his passage the slight flickering of the gas lights. He stopped at the nurse's desk to check the room charts. He didn't need them, not with the slight pulling he felt; the man he was sent to visit was ahead and to the left. In a village, or out in the woods, this would be enough direction. But in this maze of corridors, Hiyama would be using his time better to check a floor plan.

He felt a twinge in his heart at doing so, more the anticipation of pain than pain itself. His spiritual powers were strong. Had he not desired to be efficient, he could have completed his task without ever learning the name of the soul he had to collect. The nameless ones never haunted him. But still, he looked, waiting for the flash of intuition to tell him when he looked at the correct name.

A pair of nurses walked by, excitedly discussing the possibility of getting electric lights installed through out the hospital--the operating rooms already had them. How... Western. Hiyama's hands wandered of their own accord to straighten his formal robes. Another recent change--the doctors and nurses were gradually starting to wear Western clothing when they worked. It seemed disrespectful to the dying if they could not even have the comfort of dying in their own culture.

So many changes. Hiyama shook his head as he walked. Too many changes. He too often found himself shocked and disgusted by what was happening to his homeland. The memory of his last case, a man who had suffered a shotgun blast, tried to surface in his thoughts, but now was not the time for personal horror.

The hospital was full tonight. Well into the patients' section, Hiyama felt he was surrounded by fading stars, flickering flames that he could feel all the more clearly as they drew closer to death. He walked slowly, but confidently, through the maze, knowing that many of the people in these rooms would see him if they looked. A flame flickered out behind him--not a physical one, but a spiritual one. Hiyama looked back, wondering if he would need to make a small detour, but the freed spirit moved on as it was supposed to. Hiyama continued down his path.

At a doorway that looked just like every other in the wing, Hiyama stopped. This room. The name on one of the charts only confirmed that tugging sensation in his head. He stopped before entering, surprised at the strength of a flame he could feel so clearly. To his senses, it almost eclipsed the one he was sent to collect. Hiyama's eyes were drawn to the source of this odd flame. Ah. That one. Hiyama had seen the man often in the last six or seven years. Against his will, Hiyama's eyes flicked back to read the man's name, but it wasn't posted.

What odd sense drove the doctors to so often place the most mysterious of cases with this man who did not die? And what twist of fate meant that he so often had to force upon others what the strange man so clearly wanted. The strange silent man was awake tonight, and he watched Hiyama through eyes veiled with hope. Hiyama shook his head, and watched regretfully as that hope faded out, yet again. It was replaced by a silent plea that Hiyama had never understood. Was the request that he be taken anyway, or that he not be forced to watch another die?

It didn't matter. Hiyama could not grant either wish. He turned away to face the task he had been given. For a long moment, Hiyama could not understand what he was seeing. The masses of cords and bandages made no sense to his eyes, and he frowned. Somehow, the doctors had managed to force life upon this body, and that in turn kept the spirit from departing. Knowing that he would need to report the cause of the spirit's delay, Hiyama did his best to note what he saw. Perhaps if he described it well enough, one of the others could explain it.

It seemed that so many of their recent missions were complicated by Western influences. But the machines were no match for Hiyama's powers, and he began to chant the summons that would free the spirit from this painful half-life. When he bowed his head at the end of the summons, and the lights faded from the room, Hiyama could feel the spirit still lingering. He looked up, surprised that the spirit had not simply moved on.

"Thank you, shinigami-sama. Thank you for freeing me." The spirit bowed deeply before yielding to the summons. Hiyama felt a rare sense of peace settle over him. Despite his many years, Hiyama could count on one hand the number of times a spirit had thanked him. Looking at the corpse, he felt a stab of pity for the tortured flesh.

Forgetting the witness for a moment, Hiyama turned away and let his anger and frustration slip its leash. The eyes that met his reflected the same emotions, though for a rather different set of reason. In the moment of contact, the anger slipped away into pleading, the change of emotions the only physical sign of life or awareness in the prone form.

Perhaps it was the small amount of contentment that Hiyama felt from the easy case, or perhaps it was simply that he had seen that look from this man too many times over the years, that made Hiyama acknowledge the living man. "I cannot." He stepped over to the other bed, and gently brushed a bit of hair away from the pleading eyes. "I cannot interfere with the path set out for you."

A single tear slid down the man's cheek, as his lips moved, trying to force sound from a long unused voice.

"I- I cannot." The words felt odd to Hiyama. "It is not your time." He turned away, knowing that this pathetic man would soon slid back into unseeing apathy, but found the need to rekindle that odd spark of hope. He let his sense reach out to read the man's flame, reading the name upon it without even trying. "You are closer to your freedom than before, but it is not time yet. Wait, Tsuzuki-san. Wait, and the time will come."

**About two years later**  
"Welcome to the Shokan division, Tsuzuki-san. Do you have any further questions?" 

"One." The new shinigami looked slightly embarrassed, and loosened his tie. "There was someone I expected to see. I, I don't know his name, but he was always dressed in very formal traditional robes...."

"Hiyama-san." There was something carefully neutral about how the name was said. "Why would you want to see him?"

"I... wanted to thank him for his kindness."

The man's face showed surprise, but then he sighed with genuine regret. "I'm sorry, Tsuzuki-san. He... moved on two months ago. He said the world had changed too much for him to be able to fulfill his duties."


End file.
